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r 



Th gift of 



HSNRY A. PARKER 




BHtMES FOK THE NURSERY. 



ILLtrSTRATED 




TEU-ADELiniA: 
I OEOROE 8 APFLETON, 194 CHESTKOT STREET. 



■oy.^ S-, /i 






/ 



^^RHYMES 



FOR THE NURSERY. , 



VT TBS 



AUTHORS OF "ORIGINAL POEMS." 



NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION 



WITH SrZTCCN DC8ION8, BMORAVCD BT OROOKB. 



' ^ ^ ^^^ 



PHILADELPHIA: 
GEORGE S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT STREET. 

NEW YORK: 
0. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 

. 1849. , 



miNTI^D BY SMITH & PETKR9, 

Franklin nuildin^. Sixth Street lielow Arch Pliiladrlt<hla< 



PREFACE. 



In the simple title of "Rhymes for the Nursery," the 
pretensions of this, little volume are fully explained. In 
the Nursery they are designed to circulate, and within 
its sanctuary walls the writers claim shelter from the eye 
of critidsm; though, should they appear to have ad- 
mitted any sentiment injudicious, erroneous, or dangerous, 
they ask not such an indulgence. 

It has been questioned by authority they respect, 
whether ideas adapted to the comprehension of infancy 
admit the restrictions of rhyme and metre? With hu- 
mility, therefore, the present attempt has been made : 
should it, however, in any degree prove successful, the 
writers must certainly acknowledge themselves indebted 
rather to the plainness of prose, than to the decorations 

of poetry. 

(vii) 



■}?.. 



• ' 



CONTENTS. 



Fofe 

The Cow 13 

Good Night 15 

Getting up • • • 17 

Babj and Mamma •••... 19 

The Sparrows 20 

The Kind Mamma 22 

Learning to go alone 25 

About the little Girl that beat her Sister • • 26 

The little Girl to her Dolly 28 

The Star 30 

Gome and play in the Garden .... 32 

About learning to read . • • . • 34 

No Breakfast for Growler 36 

Poor Children , . 38 

liRaming to draw 40 

Of what are your Clothes made • • . 42 



X CONTENTS. 

Fife 

Little Girls iniut not fret 45 

Breakfast and PiMB 47 

The Flower and the Lady, about getting up • .49 

The Baby's Dance 51 

For a little Girl that did not like to be waited • 52 

The Cut 54 

The little Girl that could not read . • • . 56 

Questions and Answers 58 

Playing with Fire 60 

The Field Daisy .»•••• 62 

The Michaelmas Daisy 63 

DutifulJem 64 

The Ant's Nest 69 

Sleepy Harry • • 71 

Going to Bed 73 

Idle Mary 75 

The little Husbandman 77 

The little Child •...•. 79 

The Old Beggar Man ...82 

The littk Coward 84 

The Sheep 86 

The little Boy who made himself ill • • • 88 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Dirty Hands • 145 , 

Poor Donkey 147 

The Spring Nosegay 150 

The Summer Nosegay . • • • . 152 

The Autumn Nosegay •••••• 154 

The Winter Nosegay 156 

The little Lark 158 

The quarrelsome Dogs • . . . • 161 

The honest Ploughman •••••• 164 

The little Beggar Girl 166 

Poor Puss 168 

The little Ants 171 

The Meadows . 173 

The Wasp and the Bee l76 

The little Girl who was naughty, and who was after- 
wards very sorry for it . . . . 180 

The Dunce of a Kitten 184 

A very sorrowful Story 186 



RHYMES 



FOB 



THE NURSERY. 



'^'<^^>^>^^>^^>^*^\^>^*^i^>^>^^v>t 



THE COW. 



Thank you, pretty cow, that made 
Pleasant milk to soak my bread, 
Every day, anck every night. 
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. 

(xiii) 



14 

Do not chew the hemlock rank, 
Growing on the weedy bank j 
But the yellow cowslips eat, 
They will make it very sweet. 

Where the purple violet grows, 
Where the bubbling water flows, 
Where the grass is fresh and fine 
Pretty cow, go there and dine. 



16 



\ GOOD NIGHT. 

Little baby, lay your head 
On your pretty cradle-bed ; 
Shut your eye-peeps, now theMay 
And the light are gone away ; 
All the clothes are tucked in tight 
Little baby dear, good night. 

Yes, my darling, well I know 
How the bitter wind doth blow ; 
And the winter's snow and rain. 
Patter on the window-pane : * 



16 

But they cannot come in here, 
To my little baby dear ; 

For the window shutteth fast, 
Till the stormy night is past ; 
And the curtains warm are spread 
Round about her cradle-bed : 
So till morning shineth bright. 
Little baby dear, good night. 



IT 



GETTING UP. 

Now my baby, ope yom* eye, 
For the sun is in the sky. 
And he's peeping once again 
Through the frosty window-pane : 
Little baby, do not keep 
Any longer fast asleep. 



There now, sit in mother's lap, 
That she msty untie your cap ; 
For the little strings have got 
Twisted into stich a knot : 



18 

Ah ! for shame, you Ve been at play 
With the bobbin as you lay. 

There it comes, now let us see 
Where your petticoats can be : 
Oh ! they *re in the window-seat, 
Folded very smooth and neat : 
When my baby older grows. 
She shall double up her clothes. 

Now one pretty little kiss, 
For dressing you so nice as this j 
And before we go down stairs, 
Don't forget to say your prayers ; 



19 

For 't is Grod who loves to keep 
Little babies while they sleep. 



BABY AND MAMMA. 

What a little thing am I ! 
Hardly higher than the table : 

I can eat, and play, and cry, 

But to work I am not able. 

Nothing in the world I know, 

But mamma will try and show me : 



20 

Sweet mamma, I love her so, 
She 's so very kind unto me. 

And she sets me on her knee, 
Very often, for* some kisses : 

Oh ! how good I'll try to be. 

For such a dear manmtia as this is. 



THE SPARROWS. 

Hop about, pretty sparrows, and pick up 
the hay. 
And the twigs, and the wool, and the 
moss; 



21 

[ndeed, I 'U stand far enough out of your 
way, 
Don't fly from the window so cross. 

[ don 't mean to catch you, you dear little 
Dick, 

And fasten you up in a cage ; 
To hop all day long on a straight bit of stick, 

Or to flutter about in a rage. 

[ only just want to stand by you and see 
How you gather the twigs for your 
house ; 

Or sit at the foot of the jenneting tree, 
While you twitter a song in the boughs. 



22 

Oh dear* if you'd eat a cmmb out of my 
hand. 
How happy and glad I should be f 
Then come, little bird, while I quietly 
stand 
At the foot of the jenneting tree. 



THE KIND MAMMA- 

Come, dear, and sit upon my knee, 
And give me kisses, one, two, three. 
And tell me whether you love me. 

My baby. 



23 

For this I 'm sure, that I love you. 
And many, many thmgs I do. 
And all day long I sit and new 

For baby. 

And then at night I lie awake, 
Thinldng of things that I can make, 
And trouble that I mean to take 

For baby. 

And when you 're good and do not cry. 
Nor into naughty passions fly, 
You can't think how papa and I 

lA)ve baby. 



24 

But if my little girl should grow. 
To be a naughty child, you know, 
^ would grieve mamma to see her so. 

My baby. 

Aurl when you saw me pale and thin, 

lly gfleving for my baby's sin, 

t <hhik youM wii^ that you had been 

A better baby. 



26 



LEARNING TO GO ALONE. 

Come, my darling, come away. 
Take a pretty walk to-day : 
Run along, and never fear, 
I '11 take care of baby dear : 
Up and down with little feet, 
That 's the way to walk, my sweet. 
Now it is so very near. 
Soon she '11 get to mother dear. 
There she comes along at last : 
Here 's my finger, hold it fast : 
Now one pretty little kiss. 
After such a walk as this. 



ABOUT THE LITTLE GIRL THAT BEAT 

HER SISTER. 

Gk), go, my naughty girl, and kiss 

Your little sister dear ; 
I must not have such scenes as this, 

And noisy quarrels here. 



What ! little children scratch and fight 

That ought to be so mild; 
Oh! iSisrj, it's a shocking sight 

To see an angry child. 



27 

I can't imagine, for my part, 

The reason of your folly, 
She did not do you any harm, 

By playing with your dolly. 

See, see, the little tears that run 
Fast from her watery eye : 

Come, my sweet innocent, have done^ 
'Twill do no good to cry. 

Go, Mary, wipe her tears away, 
And make it up with kisses : 

And never turn a pretty play 
To such a pet as this is. 



28 



■ • 



THE UTTLE GIRL TO HER DOLLY. 

There, go to sleep, Dolly, in own mother's 

lap; 
I 've put on your night-gown and neat little 

cap ; 
So sleep, pretty baby^ aifli shut up your eye. 
Bye bye, little Dolly, lie still and bye bye. 

I '11 lay my clean handkerchief over your 

head. 
And then make believe that my lap is 

your bed ; 



39 

So hush, little dear, and be sure you don't 

cry : 
Bye bye, little Dolly, lie still, and bye bye. ^ 












.^ ■^■ 



get up, ^. 
And I'll crumb yg]^:. a mess in" my own 

china cup, 'f:: - 
So wake, little baby, and open your eye. 
For I think it's high time to have doi 

with bye bye. 



30 



THE STAR. 

TwmsxE, twinkle, little star, 
How I wonder what you are ! 
Up above the world so high, 
Like a diamond in the sky. 



When the blazing sun is gone, 
When he nothing shines upon, 
Then you show your little light. 
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. 



31 

Then the traveller in the dark, 
Thanks you for your tiny spark ! 
He could not see which way to go, ^ 
If you did not twinkle so. 

In the dark blue sky you keep, 
And often through my curtains peep, 
For you never shut your eye 
Till the sun is in the sky. 



As your bright and tiny spark 
Lights the traveller in the dark, 
Though I know not what you are. 
Twinkle, twinkle, little star. 






32 



COME AND PLAY IN THE GARDEN. 

Little sister, come away, 
And let us in the garden play. 
For it is a pleasant day. 

On the grass-plat let us sit, 

Or, if you please, we '11 play a bit. 

And run about all over it. 



But the fruit we will not pick, 
For that would be a naughty trick, 
And very likely make us sick. 



33 

Nor will we pluck «k pretty flowers 
That grow about th^eds and bowers, 
Because you know they are not ours. 

We '11 take the daisies, white and red, 
Because mamma has often said, 
That we may gather them instead. 

And much I hope we always may 
Our very dear mamma obey, 
And mind whatever she may say. 




ABOUT LEARNING TO READ. 

Here's a pretty gay book, full of verses 

to sing, 
But Lucy can't read it; oh! what a sad 

thing! 
And such fiinny stories — and pictures too 

— ^look : 
I am glad I can read such a beautiful 

book. 



But come, little Lucy, now what do you say, 
Shall I begin teaching you pretty great A 1 




id then all the Ij^^Bthat stand in a 

row, 
lat you may be able fo read it, you know 1 

great many children have no kind 

mamma, 
) teach them to read, and poor children 

they are ; 
it Lucy shall learn all her letters to tell, 
ad I hope by and bye she will read very 

well. 



tEAKPASTFC 



NO BREAKFAST FOR GROWLER. 

No, naughty- Growler, get away, 

You shall not have a bit ; 
Now when I speak, how dare you stay "? 
I can't spare any. Sir, I say, , 

And so you need not sit. 

Poor Growler ! do not make him go. 

But recollect, before, 
That he has never served you so, 
For you have given him many a blow, 

That pa'tiently he bore. 



A, 

reHpP) 
^ar ^Rh many a 



Poor Growler ! if h^^^^Hl speak, 

He M tell (as wefl 
How he would bear ^Rh many a freak, 
And wag his tail, and look so meek. 

And neither bark nor bite. 

Upon his back he lets you ride, 

All round and round the yard; 
And now, while sitting by your side, 
To have a bit of bread denied 
Is really very hard. 

And all your little tricks he 'II bear, 
And never seem to mind ; 



And yet y<^^^ 


Knnot spare 


One bit of brS^H 


Rr his share. 


Although he iss? 


[ind! 



POOR CHILDREN. 

When I go in the meadows, or walk in 

the street, 
How many poor children I frequently 

meet, 
Without shu-s or stockings to cover their 

feet. 



liinBFeat, 



Their dotiies are ^^^B^ ^^d let in the 

cold; 
And they have so lit'SBireat, I am told. 
That indeed 't is a pitiful sight to behold ! 

And then I have seen, very often that tiiey 
Are cross and unkind to each other at 

play; 
But they've not been taught better, I've 

heard mamma say. 

But I have kind parents to watch over me, 
To teach me how gentle and good I should 
be. 

And to mourn for the poor little children 
I see. 




LEAI^^HO DRAW. 
Come, here arc a slate, and a pencil, and 

string, 
So let us sit down and draw some prett; 

thing ; 
A man and a cow, and a horse, and a tree, 
And when you have finished, pray show 

them to me. 

What! cannot you do if? Shall I show 

you how 1 
Come, give me your pencilrJV/ draw you 

a cow. 



41 



YouVe made the j^gj^creature look very 

forlorn! ^^^ 
She has but three Iqgs, dear, and only 

one horn. 



Now see, I have drawn you a beautiful 

cow; 
And here is a dicky-bird, perched on a 

bough. 
And here are some more flying down from 

above : 
TTiere now, is not that very pretty, my 

love? 



42 




O yes, very pretty? now make me some 

more, m^ 

A house with a gate, and a window, and 
door, 

And a little boy flying his kite with a string, 

For you know, dear mamma, you can draw 

anything! 



««^*^M«M*V«#^P^^^A^I^^I#^ 



OP WHAT ARE YOUR CLOTHES MADE 1 

Come here to papa, and I '11 tell my dear 
boy, 
(For I think he would never have 
guessed,) 



43 

How many poor animals we must em- 
ploy 
Before little Charles can be dressed. 



The pretty Sheep gives you the wool from 
his sides, 
To make you a jacket to use ; 
And the Dog or the. Seal must be stripped 
of their hides. 
To give you these nice little shoes. 

And then the shy Beaver contributes his 
share 
With the Rabbit, to give you a hat j 



'44 

For this must be made of their delicate hair, 
And so you may thank them for that. 

All these I have mentioned, and many 
more too, 

Each willingly give us a share, 
One sends us a hat and another a shoe, 

That we may have plenty to wear. 

Then as the poor creatures are sufiTered to 
give 

So much for the comfort of man, 
I think 'tis but right, that as long as they live 

We should do all for tJiem that we can. 



45 



LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT FRET. 

What is it that makes little Emily cry '? 
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from 

her eye : 
There — ^lay down your head on my bosom 

— ^that 's right, 
And now tell mamma what's the matter 

to-night. 

What ! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with 

play? 
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch 

her away ; 



46 

But do not be fretful, my darling, because 
Mamma cannot love little girls that are 
cross. 

She shall soon go to bed and forget it 

all there. 
Ah ! here's her sweet smile come again, I 

declare : 
That's right, for I thought you quite naughty 

before : 
Good night, my dear child, but don't fret 

any more. 



47 ^ 



BREAKFAST AND PUS& 

Here's my baby's bread and milk, 
For her lip as soft as silk ; 
Here's the basin clean and neat, 
Here's the spoon of silver sweet, 
Here's the stool, and here's the chair. 
For my little lady fair. 

No, you must not spill it out. 
And drop the bread and milk about ; 
But let it stand before you flat, 
And pray remember pussy-cat : 



4S 

Poor old pussy-cat, that purrs, 
All so patiently for hers. 



True, she runs about the house, 
Catchmg now and then a mouse : 
But, though she thinks it very nice, 
That only makes a tiny slice : 
So don't forget that you should stop, 
And leave poor puss a little drop. 



49 



THE FLOWER AND THE LADY, ABOUT 

GETTING UP. 

Pretty flower, tell me why 
All your leaves do open wide, 

Every morning when on high 
The noble smi begins to ride. 

This is why, my lady fair. 

If you would the reason know, 

For betimes the pleasant air 
Very cheerfully doth blow. 

D 



50 

And the birds on every tree. 
Sing a merry, merry tmie, 

And the busy honey-bee 

Comes to suck my sugar soon. 

This is, then, the reason why 
I my little leaves undo : 

Little lady, wake and try 
If I have not told you true. 



61 



THE BABY'S DANCE. 

AJNTCEy little baby, dance up high : 

ever mind, baby, mother is by ; 

•ow and caper, caper and crow, 

lere, little baby, there yoii go j 

p to the ceiling, down to the ground, 

ickwards and forwards, round and round : 

len dance, little baby, and mother shall 

sing, 
Tiile the gay merry coral goes ding, ding- 
a^g, ding. 



62 



FOR A LITTLE GIRL THAT DID NOT 
LIKE TO BE WASHED. 

What ! cry when I wash you, not love to 
be clean ! 

ft 

Then go and be dirty, not fit to be 

seen : 
And till you leave off, and I see you have 

smiled, 
I cftn't take the trouble to wash such a 

child. 



63 

Suppose I should leave you now just as 
you are, 

Do you think you'd deserve a sweet kiss 

from papa, 
Or to sit on his knee and learn pretty 

great A, 
With fingers that have not been washed all 

the day "i 



Ay, look at your fingers, you see it is so : 
Did you cJf er behold such a black little row ? 
And for once you may look at youradf in 

the glass ; 
There's a face to belong to a good little lass ! 



! 



54 

Come, come then, I see you're b^inning 

to clear, 
You won't be so foolish again, will you, 

dear 1 



o^^»^^^^^^*<^^^^i^*» 



THE CUT. 

Well, what's, the matter t tjjer*^ a face ! 

What ! have you cut a vein "i 
And it is quite a shocking place ! 

Come, let us look again. 



56 

I see it bleeds, but never mind 

That tiny little drop ; 
I don't believe you '11 ever find 

That crying makes it stop. 

' Tis sad indeed to cry at pain, 

For any but a baby ; 
If that should chance to cut a vein, 

We should not wonder, may be. 

But such a man as you should try 
To bear a little sorrow : 

So run abou^ and wipe your eye, 
*Twill all be well to-morrow. 



56 ^ 



THE LITTLE GIRL THAT COULD NOT 

READ. 

I don't know my letters, and what shall I 

do? 
For I Ve got a nice book, but I can't read 

it through! 

dear, how I wish that my letters I knew ! 

1 think I had better begin them to-day, 
'Tis so like a dunce to be always at play 
Mamma, if you please will you teach me 

great A ? 



' 67 

1 then B and C, as they stand in the 

row, 
5 after another, as far as they go, 
' then I can read my new story, you 

know. 

pray, mamma, teach me at once, and 

you'll see 
lat a good— very good little child I 

shall be, 
try and remember my A, B, C, D. 



58 



QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. 

Who showed the little ant the way 
Her narrow hole to bore, 

And spend the pleasant summer day. 
In laying up her store "i 



The sparrow builds h^r clever nest, 
Of wool, and hay, and moss : 

Who told her how to weave it best. 
And lay the twigs across ? 



59 

Who taught the busy bee to fly 
Among the sweetest flowers. 

And lay his feast of honey by, 
To eat in winter hours ? 



Twas Gkxi, who shQwed them all the way, 

And gave their little skill. 
And teaches children, if they pray, 

To do his holy will. 



60 



PLAYING WITH FIRE. 

I've seen a little girl, mamma ! 
That had got such a dreadful scar 1 
All down her arms, and neck, and facei 
I could not bear to see the place. 



Poor little girl, and don't you know 
The shocking trick that made her so 1 
TVas all because she went and did 
A thing her mother had forbid. 



61 

For once, when nobody was by her, 
This silly child would play with fire ; 
And long before her mother came, 
Her pinafore was all in jQame. 

In vain she tried to pijt it out. 
Till an her clothes were burnt about : 
And then she suffered ten times more, 
All over with a dreadful sore : 



For many months before 'twas cured, 
Most shocking tortures she endured ; 
And even now when passing by her, • 
You see what 'tis to play with fire ! 



\ 



62 



THE FIELD DAISY. 

I'm a pretty little thing, 
Always coming with the spring ; 
In the meadows ^reeu I*m found. 
Peeping just above the ground, 
And my stalk is covered flat, 
With a white and yellow hat. 

Little Mary, when you pass 
Lightly o'er the tender grass, 



63 

Skip about, but do not tread 
On my bright but lowly head. 
For I always seem to say, 
** Surly winter's gone away/' 



THE MICHAELMAS DAISY 

> 

I AM very pale and dim, 
With my faint and bluish rim, 
Standing on my narrow stalk, ^ 
By the littered gravel walk, 
And the withered leaves aloft. 
Fall upon me very oft. 



64 



But I show my lonely head, 
When the other flowers are dead, 
And you 're even glad to spy, 
Such a homely thing as I ; 
For I seem to smile and say, 
" Summer is not quite away/' 



^^S«>»»*M»^^^«»^«»<»<^*» 



DUTIFUL JEM. 

There was a poor widow, who lived in a 

cot, 
She scarcely a blanket to warm her had 

got; 



T J ,_,^ 




65 

jr windows were broken, her walls were 

all bare, 
id the cold winter-wind often whistled in 

there. 



K>r Susan was old, and too feeble to 

spin, 
Br forehead was wrinkled, her hands they 

were thin ; 
ad bread she'd have wanted, as many 

have done, 
she had not been blessed with a good 

little son. 



£ 



66 



But he loved her well, like a datifid 
lad, 

And thought her the very best friend that 
he had : 

And now to neglect or forsake her be 
knew, 

Was the most wicked thing he could pos- 
sibly do. 



For he was quite healthy, and active, and 
stout, 

While his poor mother hardly could hob- 
ble about, 



67 



id he thought it his duty and greatest 

delight, 
I work for her living, from morning to 

night. 

I he started each morning as gay as a lark, 

id work'd all day long in the fields till 
't was dark : 

len came home again to his dear mo- 
ther's cot, 

id cheerfully gave her the wages he got. 

id cA, how she loved him! how great 

was her joy ! 
> think her dear Jem was a dutiful boy : 



68 

Her arm round his neck she would ten- 
derly cast, 

And kiss his red cheek, while the tears 
trickled fast. 

« 
Oh, then, was not this little Jem happier 

far, 
Than naughty and idle, and foolish boys 

are 1 
For, as long as he lived, 't was his comfort 

and joy. 
To think he 'd not been an undutiful boy. 



69 



THE ANT'S NEST. 

It is such a beautiful day, 

And the sun shines so bright and so 
warm, 
That the little ants, busy and gay, 
Are come from their holes in 
swarm. 



All the winter together they sleep. 
Or in the underground passages run, 



70 

Not one of them daring to peep. 
To see the bright face of the sun. 



But the snow is now melted away, 

And the trees are all covered with 
green; 

And these little ants, busy and gay. 

Creeping out from their houses are seen. 



They Ve left us no room to go by, 
So we'll step aside on to the grass, 

For a himdred poor insects might die, 
Under your little feet as they pass. 



71 



SLEEPY HARRY. 



*« I DO not like to go to bed " 
Sleepy little Harry said, 
Go, naughty Betty, go away, 
I will not come at all, I say ! 



Oh, what a little silly fellow ! 
I should be quite ashamed to tell her ; 
Then, Betty, you miist come and carry 
This very foolish little Harry. 



72 

The little birds are better taught, 
They go to roosting when they ought ; 
And all the ducks and fowls, you know 
They went to bed an hour ago. 

The little beggar in the street, 
Who wanders with his naked feet, 
And has not where to lay his head. 
Oh, he *d be glad to go to bed. 



* 73 



GOING TO BED. 

Down upon my pillow warm, 

I do lay my little head, 
And the ram, and wind, and storm, 

Cannot come too nigh my bed. 

Many little children poor, 
Have not any where to go, 

And sad hardships they endure, 
Such as I did never know. 



74 

Dear mamma, I '11 thank you oft 
For this comfortable bed, 

And this pretty pillow soft, 
Where I rest my little head. 

I shall sleep tUl morning light, 
On a bed so nice as this ; 

So, my dear mamma, good night. 
Give your little girl a kiss. 



75 



IDLE MARY. 

Oh, Mary, this will nev61* do ! 

This work is sadly done, my dear. 
And then so little of it too ! 

You have not taken pains, I fear. 

■ 

Oh, no, your work has been forgotten. 
Indeed you We hardly thought of that ; 

I saw you roll your ball of cotton 
About the floor to please the cat. 



76 

See, here are stitches straggling wide, 
And others reaching down so far ; 

I 'm very sure you have not tried 
In this, at least, to please mamma. 

The little girl who will not sew, 
Must neither be allowed to play ; 

And then I hope, my love, that you 
Will take more pains another day. 



77 



THE LITTLE HUSBANDMAN. 

I 'm a little husbandman, 
Work and labour hard I can : 
I 'm as happy all the day 
At my work as if 't were play : 
Though I Ve nothing fine to wear, 
Yet for that I do not care. 

When to work I go along, 
Sipging loud my morning song, 



78 

With my wallet at my back, 
Or my wagon-whip to smack : 
Oh ! I am as happy then. 
As any idle gentlemen. 

I Ve a hearty appetite. 
And I somidly sleep at night. 
Down I lie content, and say, 
« I 've been useful all the day : 
I 'd rather be a plough-boy, than 
A useless little gentleman." 



79 



THE LITTLE CfflLD. 

I *M a very little child. 

Only just have learned to speak ; 
So I shoidd be very mild, 

Very tractable and meek. 

If my dear mamma were gone, 
I should perish soon and die, 

When she left me all alone. 

Such a little thing as I ! 



80 

Oh, what service can I do, 
To repay her for her care 1 

For I cannot even sew, 

Nor make anything I wear. 

Oh then, I will always try 
To be very good and mild j 

Never now be cross or cry. 
Like a fretful little child. 



For sometimes I cry and fret, 
And my dear mamma I tease ; 

Or I vex her, while I sit 
Playing pretty on her knees. 



81 

Oh how can I serve her so, 
Such a good mamma as this ! 

Round her neck my arms I '11 throw, 
And her gentle cheeks 1 11 kiss. 

to 

Then I '11 tell her, that I will 
Try not any more to fret her, 

And as I grow older still, 

Try to show I love her better. 



82 



THE OLD BEGGAR MAN. 

I SEE an old man sitting there, 
His withered limbs are almost bare, 
And very hoary is his hair. 

Old man, why are you sitting so ? 
For very cold the wind doth blow : 
Why don't you to your cottage go 1 

Ah, master, in the world so wide, 
I have no home wherein to hide, 
No comfortable fire-side. 



.'/ 



83 

When I, like you, was young and gay, 
I '11 tell you what I used to say, — 
That I woidd nothing do but play. 

And so instead of being taught 
Some useful business as I ought, 
To play about was all I sought. 

And now that I am old and grey, 

I wander on my lonely way, 

And beg my bread from day to day. 

But oft I shake my hoary head. 

And many a bitter t^ar I shed, 

• 

To think the useless life I 've led. 






84 



THE LITTLE COWARD. 

Why here's a foolish little man, 
Laugh at him, donkey if you can ; 
And cat, and dog, and cow, and calf. 
Come every one of you and laugh. 

For only think, he runs away 
If honest donkey does but bray ! 
And when the bull begins to bellow. 
He 's like a crazy little fellow. 



85 

^oor Brindle cow can hardly pass 
long the hedge, to nip the grass, 
hr wag her tail to lash the flies, 
lut off he runs, and loudly cries ! 

jid when old Tray comes jumping too, 
Viih bow, wow, wow, for how d 'ye do, 
nd means it all for civil play, 
r is sure to make him run away ! 

lut all the while you 're thinking, may be. 
Ah ! well, but this must be a baby." 
^h ! cat, and dog, and cow, and calf, 
'm not surprised to see you laugh, 
[e 's five years old and almost half. 



86 



THE SHEEP. 

Lazy sheep, pray tell me why 
In the pleasant fields you lie, 
Eating grass and daisies white, 
From the morning till the night "i 
Every thing can something do. 
But what kind of use are vou ? 

Nay, my little master, nay. 
Do not serve me so, I pray : 



87 

Don't you see the wool that grows 
On my back, to make you clothes 1 
Cold, and very cold, you 'd be, 
V you had not wool from me. 



True, it seems a pleasant thing, 
To nip the daisies in the spring ; 
But many chilly nights I pass 
On the cold and dewy grass. 
Or pick a scanty dinner, where 
All the common 's brown and bare. 



Then the farmer comes at last. 
When the merry spring is past, 



88 

And cuts my woolly coat away,' 
To warm you in the winter's day : 
Little master this is why 
In the pleasant fields I lie. 



THE LITTLE BOY WHO MADE 
HIMSELF ILL. 

Ah ! why is my sweet little fellow so pale 1 
And why do these briny tears fall ? 

Come to me, love, and tell me what is it 
you ail. 
And we'll soon try to cure him of all. 



89 

*here, lay your white cheek down on 
own mother's lap, 
With your pinafore over your head, 
Lnd perhaps we shall see, when you Ve 
taken a nap, 
That this pale little cheek may be red. 



)hr no, dear mamma, don't be kind to 
me yet. 
For I do not deserve to be kissed ; 
^ast evening some gooseberries and cur- 
rants I ate. 
For I thought that they would not be 
missed. 



90 

And 80, when in the garden you left me J 
alone, *: 

I took them, although they were green, 
But I thoi^ht, dear mamma, 'twould be 
better to own 
What a sad naughty boy I have been. 



Indeed, my dear child, I am sorry to 
hear 
This very wrong thing you have 
done, 
'Twas not only eating the fruit when un- 
ripe, 
But taking what was not your own ; 



91 

And now you must patiently bear with the 
pain, 
That does your own folly repay, 
And I hope you will not be so naughty 
again, 
After all you have suffered to-day ! 



TO A LITTLE GIRL THAT LIKED TO 
LOOK IN THE GLASS. 

What ! looking in the glass again ! i 
Why is my silly child so vain "i 
Do you think yourself as fair 
As the gentle lilies are 1 



92 

Is your merry eye as blue 
As the violet's, wet with dew "i 
Yet it loves the best to hide 
By the hedge's shady side. 

When ydjir cheek the brightest glows, 
Is it redder than the rose 1 
But the rose's buds are seen 

Almost hid with moss and green. 

I. 

Little flowers that open gay, i; 
Peeping forth at break of day, ' 
In the garden, hedge, or plain. 
Do you think that they ate vain ? 



93 



THE ^UEL BOY AND THE KITTENS. 



What ! go to see the kittens drowned, 

On purpose, in the yard ! 
I did not think there could be found 

A little heart so hard. 



Poor kittens ! no more pretty play 
With pussy's wagging tail : 

Oh ! I 'd go far enough away, 
Brfore I 'd see the pail. 



94 

Poor things ! the little child that can 
Be pleased to go and see, 

Most likely, when he grows a man, 
A cruel man will be. 



And many a wicked tiling he '11 do, 
Because his heart is hard ; 

A great deal worse than killing you^ 
Poor kittens, in the yard. 



95 



THE WORK-BAG. 

)ME here, I Ve got a piece of rag, 
) make you such a pretty bag ; 
deed you will not often see, ' 
} nice a bag as this shall be. 

iid when it 's done, I '11 show you, too, 
le other things I have for you ; 
lis book *s to put your needles in, 
id that you know 's a pincushion. 



96 

And then, you need not lose a minute, 
But if you always keep them in it, 
You never more will need to say, 
" Wherever are my things to-day I 

" Pray, somebody, do try and look, 
To find my pin, and needle-book :^' 
\ But then the pleasant sound shall be ;— 
" They 're m my work-bag, I shall see !" 



97 



WHICH IS THE BEST WAY TO BE 

HAPPY ? 

THINK I should like to be happy to-day, 
I could but tell which was the easiest 

way: 
it then, I don't know any pretty new 

play : 

nd as to the old ones — ^why which is the 
best? 

lere's fine blind-man's-buff, hide-and- 
seek, and the rest ; 

• pretending it's tea-time, when dollies 
are dress'd ! 

G 



98 

But.no — let me see, now I 've thought of a 

way, 
Which would really I think be still better 

than play, 
I '11 try to be good, if I can, the whole dan. 

Without any fretting or crying: oh, no, 
For that makes me unhappy wherever I go, 
And it tvoidd be a pity to spoil the day so, 

I don't choose to be such a baby, not I, 
To be peevish and cross and just ready to 

cry; 
And mamma '11 be so pleased, that at least 

I will try ! 



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99 



THE FROLICSOME KITTEN. 

$ 

Dear kitten, do lie still, I say, 
I really want you to be quiet, 

Instead of scampering away. 
And always making such a riot. 

There, only see ! you Ve torn my frock. 
And poor manmia must put a patch in ; 

1 11 give you a right earnest knock, 
To cure you of this trick of scratching. 



100 

r • 

Nay, do not scold your little cat, 

She does not know what 't is you're say- 
ing; 
And every time you give a pat. 

She thinks you mean it all for playing. 

But if poor pussy understood 

The lesson that yoti want to teach her, 
And did not choose to be so good. 

She 'd be, indeed, a naughty creature. 



101 



A FINE THING. 



Who am I with noble face, 
Shining in a clear blue place ? 
If to look at me you try, 
I shall blind your little eye. 



When my noble face I shew, 
Over yonder mountain blue. 
All the clouds away do ride. 
And the dusky ^i^t beside. 



^i-V.. 






;-"^ . 



102 

« 

Then the clear wet dews I dry, 
With the look of my bright eye ; 
And the litttle birds awake, 
IVIany a merry tune to make. 

CJowslips then, and hare-bells blue, 
And lily-cups their leaves undo, 
For they shut themselves up tight, 
All the dark and foggy night. 

Then the busy people go, 
Some to plough, and some to sow ; 
When I leave, their work is done ; 
Guess, if I am not the Sun. 



103 



A PRETTY THING. 

Who am I that shine so bright, 
With my pretty yellow light, 
Peeping through your curtains grey % 
Tell me, little girl, I pray. 



When the sun is gone, I rise. 
In the very silent skies ; 
And a cloud or two doth skim 
Round about my silver rim. 



104 

All the little stars do seem 
Hidden by my brighter beam ; 
And among them I do fide, 
Like a queen in all her pride. 

Then the reaper goes along, 
Singing forth a merry song. 
While I light the shaking leaves. 
And the yellow harvest sheaves. 

Little girl, consider well, 
Who this simple tale doth tell ; 
And I think you '11 guess it soon. 
For I only am the Moon. 



105 



LITTLE BIRDS AND CRUEL BOYS. 

little bird built a warm nest in a tree, 
id laid some blue eggs in it, one, two, 

and three, 
d then very glad and delighted was she. 

d after a while, but how long^ I can't tell, 
e little ones crept, one by one, from the 

shell ; 
d their mother was pleased, for she 

loved them all well. 



106 

She spread her soft wings on them all the 

day long, 
To warm and to guard tihem, her love was 

so strong ; 
And her mate sat beside her, and smig her 

a song ; 



One day the young birds were all crying 

for food, 
So off flew their mother, away from her 

brood : 
And up came some boys, who were wicked 

and rude. 



107 

they pulled the warm nest down away 

from the tree ; 
d the little ones cried, but tihey could 

not get free ; 
at last they all died away, one, two, 

and three. 



t when back to^ the nest the poor mother 

did fly, 
I, then she set up a most pitiful cry ! 
id she mourned a long while, and then 

lay down to die ! 



108 



THE SNOWDROP. 

Now the spring is coming on, 
Now the snow and ice are gone, 
Come, my little snowdrop root, 
Will you not begin to shoot 1 

Ah ! I see your little head 
Peeping on the flower-bed, 
Looking all so green and gay 
On this fine and pleasant day. 



109 

For the mild south wind doth blow, 
And hath melted all the snow, 
And the sun shines out so warm, 
You need not fear another storm. 

So your pretty flower show. 
And your petals white undo. 
Then you '11 hang your modest head, 
Down upon my flower-bed. 



110 



ROMPING. 

Why now, my dear boys, this is always 

the way. 
You can't be contented with innocent 

play ; 

But this sort of romping, so noisy and 

high, 
Is never left off tills it ends in a cry. 

What ! are there no games you can take a 

delight in, 
But kicking, and knocking, and tearing, and 

fighting ? 



Ill 

I a sad thing to be forced to con- 
clude 

; boys can't be merry without being 
rude. 



' what is the reason you never can 

play, 
lout snatching each other's playthings 

away ? 
:^n be no hardship to let them 

alone, 
m each of you has such nice toys of his 

own. 



112 

I often have told you before, my dear 

boys, 
That I do not object to your making a 

noise; 

Or running and jumping about, any how, 
But fighting and mischief I cannot allow. 

So, if any more of these quarrels are 

heard, 
I tell you this once, and I '11 keep to my 

word, 
rU take every marble, and spintop, and 

ball. 
And not let you play with each other al 

all. 



113 



WORKING. 

aLL, now I'll sit down, and V\\ work 

very fast, 
1 try if I can't be a good girl at last : 
3 betteiC than being so sulky and 

haughty, 
really quite tired of being so naughty. 



, as mamma says, when my business is 

done^ 

jre *8 plenty of time left to play and to 

run: 

II 



114 

But when 'tis my work-time, I ought to at 

stiU, 
And I know that I (yvyht^ so I certainly 

will. 



But for fear, after all, I should get at my 

play, 
I will put my wax-doll in the closet 

away; 
And I '11 not look to see what the kitten 

is doing, 
Nor yet think of any thing else but my 

sewing. 



115 

I 'm sorry I ' ve idled so often before, 

But I hope I shall never do so any more : 

Mamma will be pleased when she sees how 

I mend, 
And have done this long seam from begin- 

mUg to end ! 



THE SELFISH SNAILS. 

It happened that a little snail 
Came crawling, with his slimy tail. 

Upon a cabbage-stalk; 
But two more little snails were there, 
Both feasting on this dainty fare, 

Engaged in friendly talk. 



116 

" No, no, you shall not dine with us ; 
How dare you interrupt us thus,** 

The greedy snails declare ; 
So their poor brother they discard. 
Who really thinks it very hard 

He may not have his share. ' 

But selfish folks are sure to know 
They get no good by being so. 

In earnest or in play ; 
Which these two snails confessed, i 

doubt, 
When soon the gardener spied them o 

And threw them both away. 



117 



GOOD DOBBIN. 

Qh ! thank you, good Dobbin, you Ve been 
a long track, 

And have carried papa all the way on your 
back; 

You shall have some nice oats, faithful 
Dobbin, indeed. 

For you've brought papa home to his dar- 
ling with speed. 



118 

The howling wind blew, and the pelting 

rain beat, 
And the thick mud has covered his legs and 

his feet j 
But yet on he galloped, in spite of the 

rain, 
And has brought papa home to his darling 

again. 



The sun it was setting a long while 

ago, 
And papa could not see the road where he 

should go ; 



119 

But Dobbin kept on through the desolate 

wild, 
And has brought papa home to his dear little 

child. 



Now go to the* stable, the night is so 
raw, 

Go, Dobbin, and rest your old bones on the 
straw : 

Don't stand any longer out here in the 
rain. 

For you Ve brought papa home to his dar- 
ling again. 



~«ia9 



sin£m(£ 



: Wmr is Mary standing there, 
.LiBmiirig down upon a chair, 
l/Rth such an angry lip and brow 
I wonder what 's the matter now. 



I 



Come here, my dear, and tell me true. 
Is it because I spoke to you 
About the work you 'd ^one so slow, 
That you are standing fretting so *? 



: 121 

Why, then, indeed, I 'm grieved to see 
That you can so ill-tempered be. 
You make your fault a great deal worse, 
By being angry and perverse. 

Oh, how much better 't would appear 
To see you shed a humble tear. 
And then to hear you meekly say, 
" I '11 not do so another day." 

For you to stand and look so cross 
(Which makes your fault so much the 

worse) 
[s far more naughty, dear, you know 
Than having done your work so slow ! 




133 



TIME TO GO TO BED. 



1 

I 



The sun at ( , and then 

The lion 1 my den; 

He roars aiong tn^^ t wide, 

Till all who hear are terrified : 
There he prowls at evenii^ hour. 
Seeking something to devour. 



When the sun is in the west. 

The white owl leaves bis darksome nest ; 



M<^'- 



123 

Wide he opes his staring eyes, 

And screams, as round and round he flies ; 

For he hates the cheerful light, 

He sleeps by day, and wakes at night. 

When the lion cometh out, 
When the white owl flies about, 
I must lay my sleepy head 
Down upon my pleasant bed j 
There all night I *11 lay me still. 
While the owl is screaming shrill. 




TIME TO GET UP. 



f 



The cock, who soondly sleeps at night. 
Rises with the morning light, 
A'ery loud and shrill he crows ; 
Then the aleepy ploughman knows 
He muflt leave his bed also. 
To hifl momii^ work to go. 



And the little lark does fly 
To the middle of the sky : 



^ /Ol 



125 

You may hear his merry tune, 
In the morning very soon ; 
For he does not like to rest 
Idly in his downy nest. 

While the cock is crowing shrill, 
Leave my little bed I will. 
And I '11 rise to hear the lark, 
For it is no longer dark : 
T would be a pity there to stay. 
When 't is bright and pleasant day. 




So, so, you are running away, Mr. Fly, 
But I 'U come at you now, if you don't 

too high ; 
There, there, I have caught you, you can't 

get away : 
Never mind, my old fellow, I'm only in 

play. 



/rx 



127 - 

I 

I Charles ! cruel Charles ! you have 

killed the poor fly, 
m have pmched him so hard, he is going 

to die : 
is legs are all broken, and he cannot 

stand; 
i^e, now he has fallen down dead from 

your hand ! * 



hope you are sorry for what you have 

done: 
ou may kUl many flies, but you cannot 

make one. 



No, you can't set it up, as I told 

before, 
It ,is dead, and it never will stand ai 

more. 



Poor thing ! as it buzzed up and down on 

the glass. 
How little it thought what was coming to 

pass! 
For it could not have guessed, as it frisked 

in the sun. 
That a child would destroy it for nothing 

but fun. 



129 

The snider, who weaves his fine cobweb so 

neat, 
Might have caught him, indeed, for he 

wants him to eat ; 
But the poor flies must learn to keep out 

of your way. 
As you kill them for nothing at all but 

your play. 



THE TCMBLIL 

Tumble down, tumble up, never mind i 
my sweet ; 
No, no, never beat the poor floor : 
T was your fault, that you could not stai 
straight on your feet. 
Beat yourself, if you beat any more. 

Oh dear ! what a noise : will a noise mal 
it well 1 
Will crying wash bruises away ? 



131 

Suppose that it should bleed a little and 
swell, 
T will all be gone down in a day. 

rhat 's right, be a man, love, and dry up 
your tears. 
Come, smile, and I '11 give you a kiss : 
[f you live in the world but a very few 
years. 
You must bear greater trouble than this. 

\h! there's the last tear dropping down 
from your cheek ! 
All the dimples are coming again ! 




I UTTI.R 1 T WOULD SOT DO | 

^H IT WAS BrD. 



*' l>HAH mother," said a little fi^ 
"I'riijf U not that a fly T 

I *m vwy hungry, and I wish 
Vuu '(1 let me go and try." 



133 

" Sweet innocent," the mother cried, 
And started from her nook, 

«« That horrid fly is put to hide 
The sharpness of the hook." 

Now, as I Ve heard, this little trout 
Was young and foolish too. 

And so he thought he 'd venture out. 
To see if it were true. 

And round about the hook he played. 
With many a longing look, 

And — " Dear me," to himself he said, 
" I 'm sure that 's not a hook. 



134 

<< I can but give one little pluck : 
Let 's see, and so I will/' 

So on he went, and lo ! it stuck 
Quite through his little gill. 

And as he faint and fainter grew, 
With hollow voice he cried, 

" Dear mother, had I minded you, 
I need not now have died/' 



135 






THE LITTLE BABY. 

What is this pretty little thing, 
That nurse so carefully flbth bring, 
And round its head her apron fling ? 

A baby ! 

Oh ! dear, how very soft its cheek ; 
Why, nurse, I cannot make it speak, 
And it can't walk, it is so weak. 

Poor baby. 




Here, take a bit, you little dear, 

% Ve. got some cake and sweetmeats i 

*ri8 Tccy mcot you need notfevi 

." -..-.- ■■ Yoo 



Oht I*mafiai4thKtJtewiUx[ie^ : . 
Why caii*t;it oit M ir^ as I,^ ~ 
And jump and talkl Do let it try; 
Poor 



Why you were once a baby too, 
And coxdd not jump as now you do. 
But good mamma took care of you, 
Like 



137 

Lud then she taught your pretty ffeet 

'o pat along the carpet neat, 

jid called papa to come and meet 

His baby. 

^h ! dear mamma, to take such care, 
jid no kind pains and trouble spare, 
'o feed and nurse you, when you were 

A baby. 




I 



WHAT CAHB OP PIKING A GUN. 

Ah! there it falls, and now it's, dead, 
TTie shot went through its pretty head. 

And broke its shining wing ! 
How dull and dim its closing eyes ! 
How cold, and stuQT, and still it lies ! 

Poor harmless little thing ! * 



It was a lark, and in the sky, 
In mornings fine, it mounted high, 
To sing a merry soi^ : 



V 



139 



Chitting the fresh and hfealthy air 
It whistled out its music there, 
As light it skimmed along. 

How little thought its pretty breast, 
This morning, when it left its nest 

Hid in the springing corn, 
To find some breakfast for its young, 
And pipe away its morning song- — 

It never should return. 

Those pretty wings shall never more 
Its callow nestlings cover o'er. 
Or bring them dainties rare : 




pBut long their gaping beaks will cry 
\ And then they will with hunger die, 
All in the bitter air. . 

J*oor little bird ! if people knew 
The sorrows little birds go through, 

I think, that even boys , 

"Would never call it sport and fun, I 
To stand and fire a frightful gun, 

For nothii^ but th« noise. , 



141 



THE GOLDEN RULE. 

Charles Corwen was an idle boy, 
And would not read his book, 

Disturbed his cousins at their play. 
And all their toys he broke. 

When he had sweetmeats, cakes, or fruit. 
He never shared with them, 

Yet for their dainties he 'd dispute. 
Unless they gave to him. 



tralj tfaef lowd liB; h^ 
Ofi 



At, Ifffii^h tl; !d him ilicsrqMils, 

iif'tujicil 1 ) pi^y* 

Uiir nvcr (oiu nn at they saw 
Wlicn i\\t:y hau r>een away. 

And when poor Charles unhappy grew 

tty being thus alone. 
tte saw ho *<) lost his cousms' love, 

And felt the fault his own. 



143 

But his kind sister, grieved to see 

Her brother treated so, 
Though he deserved it, for advice 

To their papa did go. 

My boy, this good papa tiien said. 
This lesson ought to get; 

And never, whilst you live, again 
This golden rule forget. 

Guide by its laws your conduct just, 
And think before you cfo. 

So will you kindly act to them, 
And they be kind to you. 



«^ ^*w V ii^tvr oihers be to yoi 
^•**^ -^fw. N^ onwiltittfir to recei 



145 



DIRTY HANDS. 

Oh, bless me, Mary, how is this ? 
Your hands are very dirty. Miss ; 
I don't expect such hands to see 
When you come in to dine with me. 

Mamma, said little Mary, pray. 
Shall we have company to-day, . 
That I should be so very clean 1 
By whom, pray, am I to be seen ? 




By vHmn, my girl 1 why, by Mammi, 
Bj brotibers, sisters, and Papa ; 
Vnj, do you not most love to see 
.Yoor ptrents, and your family? 



Be cleanly and polite at home, ' 
Tlieiiyoa 're prepared if friends shouldcome; < 
Make it your habit to be clean, 
No matter ttien by whom you *re seen. 



v> 



147 



POOR DONKEY. 

V 

Poor Donkey, 1 11 give him a handful of 
grass, 

I'm sure he's a good-natured, honest old 
ass: 

He trots to the market, to carry the sack. 

And lets me ride all the way home on his 
back; 

And only just stops by the ditch for a mi- 
nute, . 

To see if there 's any fresh grass for him in 
it. 




,-■,■ , .;■; ,- i4B 

*Tii tra^ now and tb^'he hs8 got a lad 

"' UiA;. ■;;...;", . 
Of standii^ stock still, ot e*«i t^j^ to 

kick; 

But then, poor old fellow, you know, he 

can't tell 
That standing stock 11 is not using me 

well; 
For it never comes into his head, I dare 

say, 
To do his work first, and %ien afterwards 

play. 



149 

No, no, my good donkey, I '11 give you 

some grass. 
For you know no better, because you 're an 

ass; 
But what little donkeys some children must 

look. 
Who stand, just as you do, stock still at 

their book ! 
For to waste every moment of time as it 

passes. 
Is being more stupid and silly than asses. 



130 



THE SPRDiG NOSBGAT. 

GoxE, m J lore, t is pleasant spring. 

Let us make a posy gay, 
Erery pretty flower we 11 brii^. 

Which we 11 gather ¥diile we may 
Here 's Hepatica so blue, 
Holding little drops of dew ! 

There 's the Snow-drop, hanging low. 
On its green and narrow stalk ; 

And the Crocuses that blow 
Up and down the garden-walk ; 



151 

Witb the Polyanthus gay, 
These must all be ours to-day ! 

After that the Primrose fair. 

Looking sweetly pale and dim ; 
And we '11 search the meadows, where 

CJowslips show their yellow rim ; 
Then along the hedge we '11 go, 
Where the early violets blow; 
All these pretty flower's we 11 bring. 
To make our posy for the spring ! 



« 




I 



THE SUMMER NOSEGAY. 



Now the yellow Cowslips fade. 
All along the woody walk ; 

And the Primrose hangs her head 
Faintly, on her tiny stalk ; J 

Let us to the garden go, " 

Where the flowers of summer grow. 

Come, and make a nosegay there, 
Plucking every flower that blows : 

Briar sweet, and Lily fair, 
That along the valley grows ; 



153 

With a Honeysuckle red, 
Round the shady arbour led. 

Then a budding Rose or two, 
Half in mossy leaves enj^oUed, 

With the Larkspur, red and blue, 
Streaky Pink, and Marigold : 

These shall make our posy gay. 

For the cheerful summer day. 




\ 



THE AUTUMN NOSEGAY. 



Now the fog has risen high, 

Through the chilly morning air ; 

And the blue and cheerful sky 
Peeps upon us, here and there ; 

Once again we 11 gather, sweet, 

Every pretty flower we meet. 

Ah ! the yellow leaves are now 
Over all the garden spread, 

Showered down from every bough 
On the lonely flower-bfed; 



/r\ 



155 

Where the autumn Daisy blue 
Opens, wet with chilly dew. 

4 

Lavender, of darksome green, 
Shows its purple blossoms near ; 

And the golden-rod is seen, 
Shooting up his yellow spear ; 

These are all that we can find, 

In our posy gay to bind. 




THE WINTER NOSEGAY. 

Now the winds of winter blow 
Fiercely through the chilly air ; 

Now the fields are white with snow, 
Can we find a posy there 1 m 

No, there cannot, all around, ^ 

A sii^le blade of grass be fouad. 



Nothing but the Holly bright, 
Spotted with its berries gay ; 

Lauristinus, red and white ; 
Or the Ivy's crooked spray ; 



157 

With a Sloe of darksome blue, 
Where the ragged Blackthorn grew. 

Or the Hip of shining red, 

Where the wild Rose used to blow, 
Peeping out its scarlet head. 

From beneath a cap of snow. 
These are all that dare to stay. 
Through the cutting winter's day. 




THE LITTLE LARK. 

I HEAR a pretty bird, but hark ! 

I cannot see it anywhere. 
Oh ! it is a little lark, 

Singing in the morning air. 
Little lark, do tell me why 
You are sii^ng in the sky ? 



Other little birds at rest, 

Have not yet begun to sii^ ; 

Every one is in its nest, 

With its head behind its wii^. 



159 

Little lark, then, tell me why 
You 're so early in the sky ? 

You look no bigger than a bee, 
In the middle of the blue ; 

Up above the poplar tree, 
I can hardly look at you . 

Little lark, do tell me why 

You are mounted up so high ? 

T is to watch the silver star. 
Sinking slowly in the skies ; 

And beyond the mountain far, 
See the glorious sun arise : 




I am mounted up so high. 



T is to sing a merry song. 

To the pleasant morning light ; 

"Why stay in my nest so loi^, 4 

When the sun is shining bright 

Little lady, this is why 

I sing so early in tlie sky. 



To the little birds below, 
' I do sing a merry tune ; 
And I let the ploughman know 
He must come to labour soon. 



./^ 



161 

Litfle lady, this is why 
I am singing in the sky. 



THE QUARRELSOME DOGS. 

Old Tray and rough Growler are having a 
fight, 
Do let us get out of their way ; 
They snarl, and they growl, and they bark, 
and they bite ! 
Oh dear, what a terrible fray ! 



I Why, what foolish fellows ! Now, ^^ . 

hard 

That they can't live together in quiet ? 

There 's plenty of room for them both > 
I J 

' the yard, j 

I And I 'm sure they have plenty of diet. 

I .But who ever said to old Growler and J 
Tray. | 

It was naughty to quarrel and light '} i 
They think it as pretty to fight as to 
play ; 
And they do not know wrong from the 
right. 



163 

when little children who do know it 's 

wrong, 
re angrily fighting away, 
are sure that to them far more blame 

must belong, 
han to quarrelsome Growler and Tray, 



I 

164 



THE HONEST PLOUGHMAN. 

Poor Tom is a husbandmaiii healthy and 

strong, 
He follows his plough as it pushes along, 
And trudging behind it he carols a song. 

He's up in the morning before the cock 

crows, 
For he should not be idle, he very well 

knows. 
Though some who are idle, know that, I 

suppose. 



^ 



165 

And when the sun sets, and his work is 

done soon, 
He finds his way home by the light of the 

moon: 
And she shines in his face, as he whistles 

a tune. 



And when he gets home, (for he never 

delays,) 
And sees his neat cot, and the cheerful 

wood blaze, 
His heart glows within him with pleasure 

and praise. 



r 


166 


^ 


^ 


■ Tis 


those who won't work, 1 
eat, it is said ; 


Shat 


mayn't 


■ But 


Tom, with good appetite 


:, takes his 




brown bread, 






And tiien cheerful and happy 


he 


goes to 


■ 


hiabed. 




J 


f 


THE LITTLE BEGGAR GIRL 


i 



There 's a poor beggar goir^ by, 

I see her looking in ; 
She 's just about as big as I, 

Only so very thin. 



^r\ 



167 

She has no shoes upon her feet. 

She is so very poor : 
And hardly anything to eat : 

I pity her, I 'm sure. 

But I have got nice clothes, you know, 
And meat, and bread, and fire ; 

And dear mamma, that loves me so, 
And all that I desire. 



If I were forced to stroll so far. 
Oh dear, what should I do ! 

I wish she had a kind manmia, 
Just such a one as you. 



■ T 



Here, little girl, come back again, 
And hold that ragged hat. 

And I will put a penny in, 

There, buy some bread with that. 



POOR PUSS. 



Oh, Harry ! my dear, do not hurt the pow 

cat, 
For Pussy, I 'm sure, will not thank you 

for that ; 
She was doing no harm, as she laid on the 

mat. 



169 

Suppose some great giant, amazingly 

strong, 
Were to kick you, and squeeze you, and 

drive you along ; 
Now, would you not think it exceedingly 

wrong ? 



"And really, my dear, you 're as greatly to 

blame ; 
For you 're serving poor Pussy exactly the 

same; 
And yet she 's so gentle, and quiet, and 

tame. 




9 



And why should you tease her, and dr 

her away 1 
She thinks you 're in earnest, if you call it 

play. 

There, now go and call her, and stroke her 

again. 
And never, my love, give poor animals 

pain, 
For you know, when you hurt them, they 

cannot complain. 



171 



THE LITTLE ANTS. 

A LITTLE black ant found a large grain of 
wheat, 
^ Too heavy to lift or to roll ; 
So he begged of a neighbour he happened 
to meet, 
To help it down into his hole. 

I Ve got my own work to see after, said he ; 

You must shift for yourself, if you please j 
So he crawled off, as selfish and cross as 
could be. 

And lay down to sleep at his ease. 



172 

Just then a black brother was passing the 
road. 

And seeing his neighbor in want, 
Came up and assisted him in with his los 

For he was a good-natured ant. 

Let all who this story may happen to hear] 

Endeavor to profit by it ; 
For often it happens that children appear 

As cross as the ant, every bit. 

And the good-natured ant, who assisted his 
brother. 

May teach those who choose to be taught, 
That if little insects are kind to each other, 

Then children most certainly ought. 




km-m^ 



173 



THE MEADOWS. 



f do grow, 

And buttercups, looking as yellow as 
gold; 
And daisies and violets, beginning to blow ; 
For it is a most beautiful sight to behold. 

The little bee humming about them is seen, 
The butterfly merrily dances along ; 




Tlio grasshopper chirps in the hedges so 
green, 
And the linnet is singing his liveliest 



The birds and the insects are liappy and 

gay. 

The beasts of the field they are glad and 

rejoice j 
And we will be thankful to God every 

day, 
And praise his great name in a loflier 

voice. 



k- 



175 

He made the green meadows, he planted 

the flowers ; 
He sent his bright sun in the heavens to 

blaze ; 
He created these wonderful bodies of ours, 
And as long as we live we will sing of 

his praise. 



■ 


w 




176 


^W 


F 


1 

THE WASP AND THE BEE. 


A Wasp met a 


Bee 


that 


was just buzzing 




by. 








L And 


he said, ' 
tell me 


'My 

why 


dear 


cousin, can you 


You 


are loved 


so 


much better Dy people 




than 1 1 








_ 











" Why, my back is as bright and as yellow 
as gold, 

And my shape is most elegant, too, to he- 
hold; 

Yet nobody likes me for that, I am told !" 



177 

Says the Bee, "My dear cousin, it's all 

very true, 
ftut indeed they would love me no better 

than you, 
If I were but half as much mischief to 

do! 



«« You have a fine shape, and a delicate 

wing. 
And they own you are^handsome, but then 

there 's one thing 
Which they cannot put up with, and that 

is your sting. 



M 



«4 



I 



" Now, I pnt it at once to yoiir own com 
mon sense, 

If you are not so ready at taking of- 
fence 

As to sting thera, on every trifling pre- 
tence 1 



" Though my dress is so homely and plain. 

as you see, 
And I have a small sling, they 're not angry 

with me, ■ 
Because I'm a busy and good-natured 

Bee !" 



_yOV 



179 

From this pray let ill-natured people be- 
ware, 

Because I am sure, if they do not take 
care, 

That they'll never be loved, if they're 
ever so fair. 




f 



THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WAS NAUGHTY, ' 
AND WHO WAS AFTERWARDS VERY , 
SORRY FOR IT. 

Here's moroing again, and a good fire- 
side, 
And such nice bread-and-milk, in a baain 
quite full ; 
How kindly you always my breakfast pro- 
vide; 
But something 's the matter, mamma, 
you 're so dull ! 



181 

You don't smile to meet me, nor call me 
your dear ; 
Nor place your armis round me so kind 
on your knee ; 
I must have done something that 's naughty, 
I fear, 
For I 'm sure you are grieved : — are you 
angry with me ? 



Oh! now I remember, last night how I 
cried. 
And you said that you could not then 
give me a kiss ; 



r 

r 



183 

I know that I might have been good if I 'i 
tried: 
But indeed I am grieved I behaved so 



To be so ill-tempered and naughty and 
rude 
To you, was unkind, and exceedingly 
y wrong, 

I *m ashamed when I think of how ill I 've 
behaved ; — 
You ought not to kiss me for ever so 
long. 



^0\ 



183 ' 

Yet indeed I do love you, and really will 
try 
To remember, before I again act amiss, 
That you, and that God who 's above in 
the sky. 
Cannot love little girls who 're as naughty 
as this! 



184 



THE DUNCE OF A KITTEN. 



I 



Come, pussy, will you learn to readf 

I 've got a pretty book ; 
Nay, turn this way, you must indeed : 

Fie, there 's a sulky look. 



Here is a pretty picture, see, 
An Apple and great A : 

How stupid you will ever be, 
If you do nought but play. 



/TV 



185 

Come, A, B, C, an easy task, 

What any one could do : 
I will do anything you ask. 

For dearly I love you. 

Now how I 'm vexed you are so dull. 
You have not learnt it half; 

You '11 grow a downright simpleton. 
And make the people laugh. 

Mamma told me so, I declare. 
And made me quite ashamed ; 

So I resolved no pains to spare. 
Nor like a dunce be blamed. 



Well, get along, you naughty kit, 

And after mice go look ! 
i 'm glad that I have got more wit — 

I love my pretty book. 



A VERY SORROWFUL STORY. 

I*LL tell you a story, come sit on my 

knee; 
A true and a pitiful one it shall be. 
About a poor man, and an old man was he. 



187 

' He'd a fine merry boy, (such another as 

you,) 
And he did for him all that a father could 

do, 
For he was a kind father as ever I 

knew. 



So he hoped that, one day, when his darling 

should grow 
A fine hearty man, he'd remember, you 

know, 
To thank his old father for loving him 

so. 



188 

But what do ycm think came of all this at 

lasf? 
Why, after a great mapy years had gone 

past, 
And the good-natured father grew old very 

fast, 



Instead of remembering how kind he had 

been, 
This boy did not care for his father a 

pin, 
But he bade him begone, for he should not 

come in. 



189 

So he Tvandered about in the frost and the 

snow! 
For he had not a place in the world where 

to go: 
And you 'd almost have cried to have heard 

the wind blow. 



And the tears, poor old man, oh ! how fast 

they did pour ! 
As he shivered with cold at his wicked 

child's door. 
Did you ever, now, hear such a story be« 

fore? 

THE ENIX 



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